The soft hum of a warm, ambient light filled the cozy living room. Christopher sat cross-legged on the plush rug, papers and notebooks scattered around him like autumn leaves. The faint aroma of the takeout he barely touched lingered in the air, mingling with the scent of his cologne that clung faintly to the hoodie he wore—hers, oversized and soft, carrying a comforting familiarity.

The room was quiet, save for the occasional scratching of his pen against paper and the melodic tapping of his fingers on his laptop’s keyboard. His brows furrowed as he stared at a half-finished line. Frustration and yearning painted his expression, his lips pressing into a thin line before he released a deep sigh.

Her presence in his life always brought him clarity, but tonight she wasn’t there, and the absence pressed heavily on him. Her laugh, her touch, the way she would lean over his shoulder to read his messy handwriting—he missed all of it. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, and glanced at the framed photo on the shelf: her smile, bright as the sun, caught mid-laugh as he leaned into her. His chest ached in the best way, a slow-burning warmth that never truly left him.

The sound of keys jingling snapped him from his thoughts. She stepped inside, shaking the chill of the evening off her coat. He looked up, and the weight of the night lifted in an instant. Her eyes found his, and a gentle smile broke across her face.

She knelt beside him, her presence filling the room like the first hint of spring after a long winter. The softness of her movements and the way she nudged his forgotten dinner closer without a word steadied him.

“You home earlier,” he murmured, voice low, steady, and full of an affection words couldn’t capture. She leaned her head against his shoulder, grounding him. For the first time that night, his world felt balanced again.